The Story of Jael and Sisera
by hana-akira
Summary: But she is kind in her own way, and all are welcome here. – —Jael


Fandom: Bible  
Title: The Story of Jael and Sisera  
Author: hana-akira AKA rurichi  
Character: Jael, Sisera, Deborah, Barak  
Genre: Drama  
Rating: 20+  
Warning: OOC, AU, death  
Prompt: A retelling of Judges 5, "The Song of Deborah", from the partial perspective of Sisera that I did for creative writing fiction class.  
Summary: But she is kind in her own way, and all are welcome here. – —Jael&Sisera

A/N: Biblically, Sisera's name means [That Sees a Horse or Swallow].

—

"Tell me, Jabin's Commander," Jael the Wife of Heber the Kenite begins, her tone light and airy, "what makes a monster?"

Sisera dares not to look at her, in the hopes that if he does not, it will be so that he could not see her and thus she could not see him.

"Tell me, Oppressor of Israelites," Jael the Wife of Heber the Kenite continues, ignoring his discomfort, "what makes a God?"

He hears her voice ring in his ears like a stick dragged against the hollows of a mountain—thrown and resonating, welling up with something from deep within, and inside, there is nothing, absolutely nothing at all.

"Tell me, Canaanite," Jael the Wife of Heber the Kenite ends, the expression on her face tender enough to request the strength and will to ask for everything yet nothing at all, "what makes a hero?"

His lips are sewn tremulously together, a quivering line betraying what could be anything, and he has no answer.

{&}

A Prophetess prays for guidance and is given knowledge by her Lord. Deborah judges Israel and speaks of what she sees to the Son of Abinoam, whom she knows will fulfill all that she tells him.

The Son of Abinoam is told by Israel's Judge of a command by their Lord that he already knows, and responds calmly, "If you will go with me, I will go, but if you will not go with me, I will not go."

"I will surely go with you," Deborah says softly, her voice smoky and formless—untouchable—and Barak feels like he could choke on it—if he was allowed to breathe it in. She continues on, the contours of her face smooth and round. "Nevertheless, the road on which you are going will not lead you to your glory, for our Lord will sell Sisera into the hand of a woman."

"Ah," agrees Barak, and he does not forget the truth.

{&}

"Tell me, That Sees a Horse or Swallow," Jael the Wife of Heber the Kenite demands, "how does the story of Sisera conclude?"

He wants to tell her that he sees neither a horse nor swallow, that his story has no end, but he is mortal and so he knows better.

She regards Sisera with strange eyes, dilated and wide, and asks, "What is the difference between the beginning and the conclusion to a victor?" Her words are steady and the look in her eyes are fixed, as if to a point that is beyond her vision.

"Monster. God. Hero. What is the difference," she goes on, "and why should it matter?"

{&}

For twenty years with nine hundred iron chariots, Sisera had oppressed the Israelites and all of it comes crumbling down when he is defeated by their Judge's army and Abinoam's son while his own is swept away by the river Kishon.

(And so he runs because what else is he supposed to do when he has lost, everyone else is dead, and all he has to show for it are just his feet and legs? What are Jabin's words worth when no one comes to save him and he cannot save himself? What is it worth _what is it worth what is it _**worth**_—)_

Sisera knows his present better than he knows his future, knows that in this moment that his life is all but forfeit, and that there couldn't possibly be any room for anything else.

But when he comes across Jael's tent, meets the woman who must be an ally for there is peace between Jabin the king of Hazor and the house of Heber the Kenite, Sisera cannot help but think otherwise.

{&}

So Sisera stays in a tent and thinks, for a moment, that this is the way it was meant to be, for he knows his present better than he knows his future.

Sisera, who is wrapped in a rug and turns aside for a woman he has just met.

Sisera, who asks for a little water to quench his thirst and is given milk to drink instead.

Sisera, who wonders how it had come to this and just quietly replies, his heart dropping and falling, not unlike how a pebble sinks to the bottom of a sea, "A hero is simply the monster of someone else's story."

The Wife of Heber the Kenite breathes out a sigh of satisfaction, the high laugh coming out of her mouth rumbling from her stomach, and she is content.

"I will help you," says Jael, and then, for all the world, Sisera believes her, even though he knows he should have known better since she will keep him here for a little while yet.

(But she is kind in her own way, and all are welcome here.)

{&}

Their so-called Lord sells them like how a merchant would sell a flock of sheep and although Sisera does not believe, that does not mean that he doesn't know. The people offer themselves willingly, knowingly and unknowingly, but they do this for anything that catches their fancy and so He makes them pay, as always.

(And does their Lord not know? 'Live' spelled backwards is 'evil'.)

They do not change. They do not know _how_ to change and so their Lord always makes them suffer. He gives and He takes and sometimes He does a little bit more than that. This Sisera knows, because he knows his present better than he knows his future. They cannot help themselves.

(Among them, there are great searchings for the heart, and so they _want_, they _crave_, they _yearn_ to know of other ways of life, wanting more and more and _more_ than their small little forms can take. And because of this, they forget their dead.)

But Sisera does not think of this then. He does not think of this when he says to Jael, "Stand at the opening of the tent, and if any man comes and asks you, 'Is anyone here?' say, 'No,'" and he does not think of this when he falls asleep under the pretense that he will be alive the next day.

(He never sees the tent peg in her hand coming for his skull and so he never sees the blood that's spilled.)

{&}

A man dies. A Prophetess knows, a Wife sees, and a Mother mourns in despair.

"How does the story end?" The Prophetess inquires, her face smooth and impenetrable even though she already knows the answer.

The Wife answers anyway, a smile already playing on her lips, "With a beginning."

A story finishes and another one takes its place. The moon rises, the sun sets, and the land rests for forty years until the story is replaced once again.


End file.
